Early that next morning, we collapsed on my bed after our long night of moving and rearranging, and we had the conversation about the baby I wish we had had the first time. Had I faced my fears up front, Skylar never would have walked out the door without me or put Sam's ring back on her finger. I would have saved her from a miserable experience and myself from a few of the worst days of my life—the three days I thought I had lost her.

After begging for forgiveness, which she granted me so readily, I disappeared beneath the covers and rested my forehead against her stomach, hoping my son would forgive me too. And for the rest of that night and every night that followed, I made sure to prove how much I loved them both. Plus, like I promised, I listened to anything she felt the need to tell me even if it wasn't something I liked hearing. So I was capable of change. It was a good thing too. My nightmares only got worse and when I woke up with Andromeda's voice inside my head, I had Skylar beside me to calm me back to sleep. I needed her there more than she realized.

I wish I could say our first few days living together were a little more buoyant. Unfortunately, there were a few too many uncertainties hanging over us. While I was looking for a job, I dropped Skylar off at her school and picked her up to make sure there were no problems—no Barry, no Sam, no father dearest. Her Jaguar did get repossessed, and we were ready for that, but otherwise, they left us alone. We weren't worth their precious time.

As the days went on, it seemed less necessary for me to drive her around, but my job prospects weren't great, so I didn't have other places to be.

But my luck did soon change. Just when my frustration was peaking, my morale in the dumps, Van Orden stopped by to tell me about the cod fishing boat he had bought.

Supposedly, he quit working for Brady the day he found out that I was more or less fired, and he had been working on that boat since Brady's grandfather was captain. Van Orden turned out to be the most loyal friend an ex-fairy prince could ask for. I accepted the job he offered on the spot.

The boat was in rough shape, but after about a month of backbreaking labor, it was up and running. We hired a crew and were out to sea for weeks at a time, catching cod and making some decent money. I was first mate, but I had a few goes at captain when Van Orden was giving his sea legs a break.

Then, in July, I bought Skylar her ring. She said "yes," and with our modest savings, we bought a three-bedroom Victorian in Salem, Massachusetts.

Before we were married, though, Skylar wanted a chance to make amends with her family. I didn't think it was a good idea. And I didn't expect it to go well, but since she wanted to try, we tried, and we tried together. After what her father had done to her—a backhanded slap to the side of her eye with his brandy snifter in hand—all for expressing her will to live her own life, there was no way in hell I was letting her go alone.

We arrived unannounced on a hot Sunday afternoon. Margaret greeted us outside and was surprisingly civil and coherent despite the half empty pitcher of strawberry daiquiri beside her lawn chair. Gretchen, Skylar's younger sister, met us at the door and announced our arrival. While we waited for Dr. Wakefield to grant us entry into his study, Gretchen joined us in the parlor and forced a few pleasantries. But there was some underlying gloat in her manner. Apparently, as Skylar explained later, Gretchen was relishing her sister's fall from glory as much as one might expect from someone who was so universally mediocre.

At last, a staff member opened the door and swept his hand forward. Skylar took a deep breath and led me inside by the hand. Her father was reading something factually cumbersome in an armchair by his two-story bookcase, his glass of brandy unremorsefully nearby. The room was curtained to be dark with the exception of the light coming from a green desk lamp with pull cords. When he finally decided to grace us with his attention, he peered at us through his bifocals like we had just crawled out of some hippie love nest.

He didn't seem to have anything to say at first, so Skylar looked for my nod of support and then brought him up to date. We were engaged, planning to be married by summer's end, and Sam was out of her life for good. The only part she left out was about the baby. Since she never got around to telling Sam, her father had no way of knowing for sure, but based on his responding tirade, he had his suspicions.

"Your children will never see a cent of their inheritance. I hope you're satisfied. . . ."

Skylar cowered before him in tears. His "disappointment" had such a profound effect on her. It was hard to stand by and watch silently, but I agreed to let her handle the situation. So I clenched my jaw shut at each untrue or exaggerated accusation, and did my best to restrain the rage building inside of me. I just squeezed her hand every once in a while to remind her that she was doing fine.

And then the "good" doctor rose from his chair and verbally assaulted me. He paced around, raised his voice. His hands were flying all over the place. And I withstood the name-calling—ignoramus, junkie, townie—peaceably, I swear! But then he just had to turn to his intelligent, well-mannered daughter and say, "And you've degraded yourself to the level of one of his local whores."

By his sweater, I threw him against the bookshelf for that one.

He was so used to pushing everyone around that he couldn't comprehend being pushed back. His money, influence, and power meant nothing to me. And he must have suddenly realized how vulnerable he was without it because I saw only cowardice in his eyes.

"Scott," I heard solemnly from behind. "Let's go home."

I let the hateful little man collapse into his pile of fallen books. Then we left without saying another word to anyone. We made our best effort, but they chose to close doors rather than open new ones.

Skylar cried herself to sleep that night. No one should have to choose between the love for family and the love of a man. Though I was the victor, there was hardly cause for celebration even with a wedding and baby so close on the horizon.

When the alarm clock rang the next morning in our sparsely furnished bedroom, Skylar was already in the bathroom. I peeked in and found her naked in front of the mirror analyzing the subtle, four-month curve to her stomach with a smile rather than a sulk. Her tearstains were gone too and there was a glow in their place. "We're both orphans now," she said when she looked up. "And here is our chance to start again."

I wanted to marry her right then and there.

She began stroking her stomach in circles. As soon as I came in from behind to join her, we were both startled by a strong kick. We laughed and agreed he'd be an athlete. And at that moment, I knew that Skylar was going to be all right. Happiness didn't require anyone else's blessing. We'd find it on our own.

As soon as my name and papers were legitimate—a few of my fairy friends pulled some government strings—I married Skylar Elaine Wakefield in a Massachusetts courthouse on a breezy, cool, late August morning. We kept it just the two of us. Though we both had supportive friends who wished us well, we didn't want to scan the smiling faces and be reminded of those crushing absences—the mothers, fathers, and siblings. So we spent the ceremony gazing into each other's eyes and had no reason to stray. And for that reason, it really was a fairytale wedding.

Autumn brought about more changes for us. Skylar didn't want to leave her school, but Sam and her father had ties there. And due to the overall conservative nature of their policies, she started a public-school job close to home to spare herself from the whispers. It was tough and emotionally draining work for her, but the success stories, though fewer, were that much more rewarding. Plus, she quickly made new work friends that had no link to her former life in Connecticut or Boston. And when they came by, they seemed to think I was all right and that was a much-appreciated bonus.

As for me? While I was out to sea, I missed Skylar terribly, but our reunions were awesome. Because of her love, stable employment, and friends who really were looking out for me, I finally made some peace with myself. By my twenty-eighth birthday, I could look into the boat's smudged, porthole-sized mirror and see a hint of the leader I was born to be. I wasn't the disgraced prince I once was. My father, Naos, was dead, so technically I was a king and in honor of his former greatness, I vowed to start acting like it.

And my legacy continues with the birth of my son. Christopher Aaron MacRae was born on January 6th, 1980, at a strong eight pounds, six ounces. And he does look just like me. He even has my diamond mark, or as Skylar put it, my "strange birthmark."

And who knows? Maybe someday he'll be the savior of the fairy world. Maybe that's his destiny. But if he grows up to be the next Zeppelin or Carl Yastrzemski, that would be even better.

He should never have to see what I've seen or do what I've done. I hope to the fairy gods in heaven that Christopher never has to find out what's out there hunting us. But if that unfortunate day should come, I will do my best to ensure that he never has to fight that battle alone. . . .

~~~

Led Zeppelin. Whole Lotta Love (1969).

https://youtu.be/0bcIjILqORM

THE END

Or just the beginning?

The saga continues in Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite (Book 1),
The Rising Star (Book 2), and Son of Grace (Book 3, returning soon)

For more information, see "a FAIRY TALE look ahead. . ." (next chapter).

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